


Care and Feeding

by SpiritsFlame



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritsFlame/pseuds/SpiritsFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since his time with Shaw, Erik has been afraid of getting sick. Charles shows him there is nothing to worry about. Written for the Erik/Charles summer fic exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care and Feeding

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to my beta Gwenknight, who took this fic on short notice and did a wonderful job!

The sneeze cuts through the morning routine like a gunshot, all motion coming to an immediate halt as every person in the kitchen turns to look at Erik. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, frozen with his arm half covering his face. Slowly, he lowers his arm again and resumes his breakfast.

“Bless you.” Raven says belatedly and Erik tilts his head at her in acknowledgment. After a moment, the other children chime in and breakfast resumes as normal.

It is a shock because, of all of them, Erik is the least likely to get sick. They’ve all had their brief spats with illness over the past few months, some more serious than others. The way that Raven had shifted every time she sneezed (sometimes as minor as the color of her hair, sometimes shifting whole forms) had been amusing.

The way that Sean’s coughs had broken most of the china in the nearby vicinity had been less so, and Alex had needed a minor quarantine for his brief illness. Through it all, Erik had been the very picture of health, albeit a very distant picture, remaining so separate from whoever was sick that he may as well have lived in a different state.

His face remains calm, carefully so, but Charles sends him concerned looks throughout the day. Erik ignores these with studied concentration because he is quite determined that there is absolutely nothing to be concerned about. It doesn't occur to him that Charles may be more worried about the complex mix of nervous horror that he is projecting, rather than his physical health.

Erik spends the rest of the day proving that he is not sick, not in the slightest. The more he sneezes the harder he works, running with Hank and training with Charles.

When he has a minor coughing fit, Charles suggests that they take a break for the rest of the day. Erik snaps at him and pushes himself harder. He knows, realistically, that being sick here at the mansion wouldn't have any more negative effects that simply getting the illness itself but a lifetime of conditioning has taught him to fear illness more than almost anything.

With Shaw illness had been a sign of weakness. And if there was one thing that Shaw would not allow, it was weakness. Once Erik had escaped, illness had meant a distraction, a delay in his search for Shaw.

He goes for another run that night, just to prove he can and plays an extra game of chess with Charles, though he thinks Charles loses the second one suspiciously fast.  
\--

The next day Erik wakes up feeling worse than ever. His head feels swollen to twice its normal size, his eyes feel blurry, and every joint aches.

Determined not to let it stop him (being sick isn’t so bad, it is acting sick that gets him in trouble) he pushes himself out of his bed, The blankets are a sweaty mess around him and he feels cold when he leaves them.

He stifles a cough on the stairs and trudges to the kitchen, straightening his spine and looking straight ahead. Sean drops his fork when Erik enters the room and Hank stands up like he wants to rush to Erik's side.

Erik glowers at both of them and Hank sits down with a thump while Sean returns to his pancakes with an almost frightening precision. Erik is just relieved that everyone else is still abed, the three of them being the early risers of the group.

Erik moves around the kitchen in a slow repeat of his usual routine, making toast and pouring orange juice and ignoring the stares he can feel on the back of his neck.

A cough rises again in his throat and this time he can’t force it down. His face flushes as he coughs into his sleeve. ‘Stupid’ he thinks. 'Weak.' He grits his teeth and straightens his spine. 'I am not weak!' he thinks and carefully takes a seat next to Sean. Hank still looks like he is ready to administer immediate medical assistance.

"Good morning." Erik says politely, voice hoarse. He glares at Sean when the redhead doesn’t answer fast enough.

"Good morning!" Sean replies hastily, his gaze returning once again to his waffles.

Distantly, Erik can hear footsteps in the hall and he spares a brief moment to hope that it isn’t-

Charles steps into the kitchen and his blue eyes widen at the sight of Erik.

Erik calmly takes a sip of orange juice, ignoring the way it scrapes at his throat. Both Hank and Sean have stopped eating, watching Charles with interest.

“Good morning, Charles." he says politely, not looking at him, though he doubts it will make any difference to Charles.

"Good morning." Charles says slowly, like he’s examining the situation and trying to decide what to do next. Erik forces down a cough through sheer force of will. He must not show weakness, must not let on that he’s sick.

"Did you seep well?" Erik asks, speaking slowly to hide the roughness of his voice and hoping that this facade of their usual routine will dissuade Charles from doing anything.

"Well enough." Charles replies, getting a bowl from the cabinet without taking his eyes off of Erik. "And yourself?"

Sean and Hank seem to have abandoned any pretense of eating and are watching the two of them with interest.

"Just fine." Erik lies. His sleep had been full of night terrors that were half memory and have sickness.

Charles gives him a skeptical look and Erik takes another sip of orange juice.

Though Erik will later deny it, he rushes through his breakfast, wanting to get away from Charles's probing, concerned gaze.

Except that when he tries to push his chair back and leave, Charles stands up as well.

"Alright, no. This is unacceptable." Charles says forcefully, and out of the corner of his eye, Erik can see Hank and Sean exchange a look.

"What do you mean?" Erik asks, trying to calm the rising anxiety that he knows has base in reality. Not anymore.

Charles glares at him, looking frustrated and concerned and thoroughly exasperated.

"Erik. You are sick. If you keep going like this, you're going to hurt yourself or one of the students."

"I'm fine." Erik snaps.

Charles approaches him so quickly he barely has time to be startled. Charles puts a cool hand against Erik's forehead.

"Erik! You're burning up!" and Erik is too thrown to protest because the last time anyone had done that for him had been his mother, before- he closes that thought off viciously.

"I'm fine." he repeats belatedly, but the ire is gone from his voice.

"You're not. You're going to go upstairs and lie down or I will make you!"

Erik freezes, turning slowly to look back at Charles, who is glaring at him with a look that is more fierce than Erik has ever seen him use.

"I'm sorry my friend, but when you're like this, you're a danger to yourself and the children."

Distantly, Erik hears Sean make a noise of protest. Distantly, he knows Charles is right. His control is always more tentative when he is this sick-it is part of why he hates it so much.

Shaw had found it intriguing, had pushed him harder, hurt him more to see if more pain and anger would mean more control when he was so sick he could barely tell the difference between the two.

He sees the lines in Charles's frown soften and knows that Charles must be picking up the edges of his thoughts from him and he tries to shut it off, to block Charles out.

"I'm sorry Erik, but this really is best for you." He shepherds Erik out of the room with such determination that Erik doesn’t really have much choice except to go with him. Behind him, he can hear the sudden outbreak of whispers between Sean and Hank and he grits his teeth.

Charles shoots him an amused look. "They're just children, Erik. They gossip."

They can do it about someone else then." He mutters, but he doesn’t really mind.

What he does mind is the way that Charles tries to manhandle him into the bed . He finally kicks Charles out when it looks like Charles is about to start undressing him. He has to promise that he'll get into the bed before Charles will leave though, so he doesn't really count it as a victory.

When he actually gets into bed (mostly because he can feel the tingle of Charles in the back of his head and knows that Charles is making sure he’s following orders) he is incredibly glad he had done so. The throbbing in his joints eases and even his head feels a bit better.

He flicks off the light switch with a thought and closes his eyes, feeling Charles’s satisfaction rush through him as pulls the heavy covers up to his chin.

\--

Erik wakes up shivering and tries to burrow deeper into the bedding. His sense of the metal bed frame feels muted and distant. He feels the rush of panic that always accompanies this loss of control, the memories of sharp knives and a warm voice saying cold words flooding his mind. He struggles against the press of the memory, struggles against the fear and hating the way it makes him feel.

A cool feeling brushes over his mind. ‘Hush’ a soothing voice whispers in his mind, and he recognizes Charles in the feeling of calm that is settling him.

The door opens as Erik slowly relaxes back into the bed. It’s Charles, of course, and he’s carrying a large tray containing a bowl and a mug.

The tray, the bowls and the silverware are metal and Erik takes comfort in their familiar hum, knowing that Charles has done this especially for him and feeling a buzz in his stomach not unlike the first few rounds towards getting drunk.

“If you think I’m just going to let you watch me eat,” he begins, pushing himself up in the bed and not feeling nearly as grumpy as he sounds.

Charles just smiles serenely at him, not fooled for a minute. As much as Erik would like to blame Charles’s powers, he suspects it’s just because he’s terrible transparent at the moment.

“Don’t be silly.” Charles grins, turning to face him fully so that Erik can see that there are two bowls on the tray. “I just wanted a quiet place to eat lunch. You don’t mind?”

It’s utterly baffling that this, of all the things that Charles has done for him, is what makes affection wash over him, filling him with such an overwhelming gratitude that, for a moment, he can only nod.

Charles doesn’t make him feel weak, or as though his illness is something to be ashamed of. He doesn’t even treat him differently, just nudges Erik over a bit on the bed and settles himself in like it’s a bed they share (and that thought alone sends a jolt of longing through him that he quickly suppresses.)

The soup is hot, a welcome relief to the way even being this far out of the covers has Erik shivering. It’s smooth going down his throat and he wonders distantly if Charles had made it.

Charles talks absently, about his childhood with Raven and his time at Oxford and Erik lets the words wash over him without really listening. He can feel Charles’s mind open against his, as comforting as his words and as warm as the soup.

Erik can feel himself drifting off again almost before he finishes the soup and Charles helps him lie back down, takes the soup, and rucks up the blankets to Erik’s chin.

He’s mostly asleep, but he thinks he feels a soft kiss on his forehead before Charles slips out the door.

\--

The first thing Erik is aware of is a cool cloth over his forehead and a calm, gentle voice in his ear. He can feel the bed dipping slightly about a foot to his left and, slowly, he realizes that Charles is sitting next to him, talking softly. After another moment, he recognizes it as Charles' s thesis and he has to stifle another rush of affection for his friend.

The reading falters, then picks up again and Erik continues to lie there with his eyes closed. He's never had this, this casual affection and care-giving. Even before Shaw and the camps, there was always too much to do to spend time on a sick child.

He had never doubted that his mother loved him, but she'd had to work and hadn’t been able to afford to take a day off to take care of someone who wasn't on their deathbed.

Even when she had been able to spare a minute to look in on him, she'd always been more preoccupied by the way his jacks would jump a foot in the air when he sneezed, or how the frame of his bed would twist when he was caught in fever-dreams.

And then- the camps, where Shaw had viewed any kind of sickness as weakness, something to be beaten out of him like any other flaw.

Charles's soft voice pauses again, but this time it is coupled with the feeling of cool hands running through his hair, gently turning over what Erik now recognizes as a washcloth over his forehead.

Then Charles picks up again, but his fingers stay, soft and soothing. His voice is getting hoarse around the edges and Erik realizes that Charles must have been at this for at least an hour.

"I know you're awake." Charles says after another long minute and Erik smiles slightly with his eyes still closed.

"I know." Erik replies and Charles's amusement feels like warm sunlight. Charles starts to pull his hand away from Erik's hair and Erik makes a small noise of discontent and shifts slightly to keep it there.

The wave of affection that washes over him is almost frightening in its intensity and it takes him a moment to realize that it doesn’t belong to him. His surprise must register in his mind, because Charles's presence in his mind immediately lessens.

Charles coughs, apparently embarrassed, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. "I m sorry."

"Don't be." Erik says, "I don't mind." and this time, there is delight in his mind along with the affection, and something he can’t name, something that goes deeper than the gentle wave of affection, something that hums in the marrow of his bones and sinks into his muscles.

Charles is staring down at him with a soft expression on his face, so open that Erik feels uncomfortable on his behalf. "I have more soup, if you'd like."

Erik thinks about it, weighing the hunger he can feel edging up against the desire to stay right where he is. The decision is taken out of his hands when his stomach makes an embarrassingly loud noise.

Charles grins. "I suppose that's a yes." He makes a move to get up but Erik catches his wrist, concentrating on the metal bowls.

He has never been able to fully control his powers while sick, but this time he focuses on Charles's presence beside him, the pleasant sensation of Charles's thoughts against his and, wobbling only slightly, the bowls float towards them.

"Excellent!" Charles says, sounding genuinely delighted by Erik's success.

"What time is it?" he asks, in lieu of responding. The curtains on his window are drawn tight, and heavy enough that no light makes it through.

"Around 9 o'clock." Charles responds, catching both bowls neatly as Erik pulls himself into a sitting position.

Erik takes a sip of the soup- he hadn't noticed earlier but it is a bit too watery, the chicken pieces slightly overcooked and the noodles a bit undercooked.

"Did you make this yourself?" he asks and the flush across Charles's checks confirms his suspicions before Charles shrugs.

"Sean helped some." Erik suspects that means Sean had given him a vague sense of what to do and Charles had insisted on doing the rest himself. That is, if Sean had even helped knowingly, rather than having Charles take the information directly from his mind.

"It's rubbish, isn't it?"Charles asks, making a motion for the bowl "You don't have to finish it."

Erik pulls the bowl closer. "It's fine." It is better than many things he's eaten in his life and more than he would have expected.

He hasn't given much thought to what it would be like to have a friend take care of him (he hasn't given much thought to having friends at all) but if he had, he would never have guessed this. He would have expected brief concern mixed with a vague discomfort- no one likes to be around someone who is sick. He would have imagined well wishes mixed with strict avoidance, it was nothing more than he himself would have done.

But Charles has stayed by him, making sure that he was comfortable, reading to him, making him soup and, he suspects, soothing away the fever dreams that have always plagued him in the past.

Charles catches the tail end of his thoughts and his entire face softens, not pitying but quietly sympathetic.

“Oh my friend, you deserve so much more than what you have been given.”

The softness in his words, the affection in his voice and mind, makes Erik feel more relaxed than he’s felt since he was a child. He feels sick and vulnerable and, for once, it doesn’t make every muscle in his body tense, every nerve protest. He lets himself lean against Charles, can feel the way Charles’s breath stutters for the briefest of moments.

“Lie down.” Charles says after a moment, the words ruffling Erik’s hair. Erik glares at him balefully, not inclined to move anytime soon, but Charles only smiles at him. “Trust me.”

And Erik does, so much that it scares him sometimes, so he settles himself back onto the bed. Charles tugs the blankets back up to Erik’s chin and gently guides Erik’s head to his knee. Then he begins to rub slow, soothing circles on Erik’s temples.

Erik can feel cool relief that he suspects is only partially physical emanating from Charles’s fingers, soothing the headache away and flowing through his body to relieve his other aching joints.

He’s so relaxed that it takes him a couple minutes to realize that he can sense more of Charles’s emotions than he could before. The affection is there, just as clear and strong, and that deeper, honeyed feeling is still vibrating pleasantly along every nerve. It’s sunk deep into his joints along with the relief and he wonders how strongly Charles must be feeling it, for Erik to pick it up so easily.

It feels a bit like the point between rage and serenity, without the edge of pain that particular memory had cost. It feels like Hanukkah before everything had gone bad and the way his mother had always tried to get a cake for his birthday, even with the economy the way it had been, his mother telling him they may not have had much but they had each other and they had love and that was enough.

And the realization jolts through him so hard he almost jerks with the force of it and he knows Charles can feel it because suddenly he’s not getting affectioncaringdevotionlove (how had he not realized it sooner) he’s getting apprehensionwithdrawalregret and Charles is pulling away.

Erik grabs his wrist with a firm hand. Charles’s wrist is small and almost cold against Erik’s fevered skin.

“No.” he whispers, and the jolt of painregretloss that runs through him makes him hasten to add, “No, don’t go. I don’t mind.”

It’s more than not minding, but he doesn't know how to say it, can’t remember the last time he has said anything like it, so instead he bundles up all his relaxation and gratefulness and affection and love and kind of shoves it at Charles’s mind.

For a moment, he worries that he did it wrong, because Charles looks like someone has just hit him, shocked and slightly stunned. Then a jolt of joywonderpleasure goes through him and Charles frames Erik’s face with his hands and kisses him.

The feeling of Charles’s cool hands on his face is almost as lovely as the kiss itself and it takes Erik a moment to remember why this is a terrible idea.

“You’ll get sick,” he murmers when Charles pauses for breath, but Charles just smiles at him, incandescent.

\--

The next day, Charles is in bed next to Erik, his cheeks flushed and his throat sore.

“You’re in idiot.” Raven says when she brings them both soup.

“Totally worth it.” Charles responds hoarsely, grinning broadly despite the pain in his throat.

Erik strokes his thumb over the back of Charles’s hand where their fingers are entwined beneath the covers. Being sick isn’t so bad after all.


End file.
